


Heart of the City

by samecity (kisstheapex)



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Friendship, Lets see where the story goes!, Maybe eventual relationship who knows????, Toronto, Toronto Blue Jays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisstheapex/pseuds/samecity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy Monaghan is comfortable in her life, with a regular day-to-day routine that keeps her happy and content. A great job, a good boyfriend, a large group of friends, and a huge city to live her life in - there's not much else she could really ask for. When she meets Toronto Blue Jays pro Troy Tulowitzki, her perspectives change, and she realizes the world she's been living in isn't always as perfect as it seems -- and that sometimes, you have to step out of your comfort zone and look from the outside in. Mostly friendship, eventual fluff, possibly eventual relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of the City

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously, I am not affiliated with Tulo or the Toronto Blue Jays in any way, shape, or form. This is a [very so much] work of fiction and is purely for fun.
> 
> Thanks for joining me, friends! This is my first foray into RPF and I'm terrified, but excited. I have no idea where this fic is going to go but I am excited to grow and develop an original character as well as my own personal characterizations of Tulo and some of the other Jays team. I'm not sure where this will go - perhaps eventually into fluff territory - but for now I'll let the plot develop and write itself. At any rate, thanks for reading!
> 
> (Note: I'll probably add in some photos of locations, in case anyone reading isn't super familiar with Toronto!)

No matter what time you go out in this city, it always feels so  _ alive. _

Even at half midnight on a Tuesday, there’s an unmistakable pulse: the sound of traffic speeding across the parkway; sirens in the distance; the mechanical clink and clatter of each skyscraper and waterfront condo’s climate control systems; the hissing of air brakes as busses stopped and lowered to let passengers off, before taking off again along their monotonous routes.

There has always been a notion that Toronto never sleeps, and this night was no exception.

You might question the logic I have, going for a run at 11:30pm in a big, dangerous, woman-eating (or so I’m continually told) city. But really, there’s no better time -- sidewalks are relatively quiet, there’s not too much traffic to contend with if running on the road is more your thing, and the illuminated nighttime view up and down the Lakeshore is just  _ spectacular _ .

There’s something about a sprawling skyline that always gets to me, that keeps me grounded here - I’ve left this city many times, but something always brings me back. Even now, with the CN Tower and its technicolour lightshow acting as a beacon, I grinned with recognition; it would always be my compass.

The Lakeshore was my usual route, trekking down from my Distillery District apartment to Exhibition Place and back at whatever pace I felt most comfortable. Some days that meant a jog, others closer to that of a mid-distance runner; hell, I’ve even been known to just walk a majority of the way. Runs have never been about  _ fitness _ , per se -- they’re more a way to shut off an overactive brain and relax for a few hours before (hopefully) uninterrupted sleep.

Queen’s Quay always seemed like a good spot to stop for a break - the boutiquey condos and small, quiet marinas were an ideal place to not only catch my breath, but to stretch and have a few quiet thoughts before setting off back home. It always marked my halfway point, either coming or going along my route, and I had a particular park bench off a fairly peaceful boardwalk that I’d pause at.

It overlooked the harbour and allowed quite a vantage of the port - on the horizon I could see the bright lights of freight ships crossing Lake Ontario from the US to Canada, drowning out the midsummer stars. A light lake breeze whispered over the surface of the water, cooling my warm skin while I stretched out gradually fatiguing muscles. 

I lifted a hand to wipe some sweat from my brow, re-pinning auburn bangs with a bobby pin to keep whatever stray hairs had escaped in place, before taking a deep and refreshing breath before pausing my music, pulling out my headphones, and just listening to my surroundings.

The hum of distant electronics...the screeching of hard-braking tires somewhere in the distance...someone’s car alarm going off....the soft sound of gentle waves breaking against the pier…

...the sound of running footsteps drawing near.

For a brief second my heart skipped a beat, and my breath hitched halfway through my lungs -- the sound of running footsteps other than your own is always more than enough to make you nervous late at night in a big city. Generally speaking, I didn’t often see other runners down here this late, so my mild paranoia had to wonder -- who the hell was running, and what were they running  _ from _ ?

The logical part of my brain slowed the instinctual adrenaline rush down, especially once the footsteps rounded the lit boardwalk path and proved the runner to be nothing more than a fellow evening jogger. He slowed to a walk, clearing his throat as he came towards the bench I’d stationed myself at, ballcap-clad head down - he looked up with a start, seeing me sitting there staring stupidly from where I sat (somehow my brain was stuck on the fact that, of all the park benches on this damn marina boardwalk, this guy had come to  _ mine _ ), hesitating and pulling up before walking any closer.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t see you sitting there,” The stranger offered with a smile. “Looks like I’m not the only person that runs out here late at night.”

_ No _ , you’re  not the only crazy person who hits up the Lakeshore to clear their head in the middle of the night. 

I shrugged, clearing my throat. “Yeah...its quiet. Good place to stop, stretch, and take a breather I guess.” Small talk -- definitely not my forte. 

He replied with a nod, now coming closer to the park bench, stopping to stretch his calves and hamstrings using the sides of the large raised flower box next to it. Clearly he did this whole running thing better than me -- the guy was  _ athletic _ , in men’s running tights, high-end sneakers, and a modest-enough Under Armor shirt, and just the type you’d expect to see running in this affluent neighbourhood.

“Mind if I stretch here?”

“Not like I own the place,” I replied, thankfully catching my sarcasm before inserting a metaphorical foot into my mouth any further, “Sorry, no worries.”

He let out a quiet chortle, a soft smile tugging at his shadowed face, before carrying on with his routine. “Thanks.”

I was about to replace my headphones and get back to running home after a horribly awkward thirty seconds when he spoke again.

“Why do you run out here so late?”

Isn’t that a pretty  _ personal _ question for someone you just met on a random park bench in the middle of the city at nearly midnight, Mr Mysterious?

“Half of the city is asleep, the other half still alive; its a cool part of the day that you don’t get to experience usually. And hey, its a great way to clear my mind,” I replied, standing up and stretching my arms to the sound of my back muscles popping. My fitness routine needed some work.  “And yourself, Mr…..?” I trailed off. 

He laughed, “Troy….no Mr needed,” The stranger - no,  _ Troy _ \- straightened up and adjusted his ballcap, tipping it back so the rest of his face was no longer in shadow. “I’m the same. I used to do most of my running in the mornings but it started getting…. _ busy _ ,” He paused with an odd emphasis, as if there was some inside joke I was missing out on. “Its a nice route, though, so I wasn’t giving up on it.”

There was a few moments of silence before he spoke again. “Sorry - I didn’t catch your name?”   
  
“Murph...well, Murphy. Irish parents.” Sometimes, explaining why you have what everyone assumes is a guy’s name is a real pain in the ass. At this stage of the game, I’d learned to just shrug it off. I extended a hand to him, probably for the sake of formality (not like it matters at midnight, but who am I kidding) -- his handshake was firm, yet friendly.

“Its nice to meet you, Murph. I’ve gotta go, but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other late-night running again.” Troy smiled warmly, looking eagerly towards the western side of the boardwalk.

“Same,” I returned the smile, also eager to get back on the road. It was getting late, and soon enough I’d be getting panicked OMG DID YOU DIE OUT THERE text messages from home. “I’m sure we’ll see you around - enjoy the rest of your run.”

He nodded, gesturing with a wave as he jogged off in the direction of Exhibition Place, leaving me feeling rather strange about the fact a late-night run had sparked up a conversation with a complete stranger. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but I’d been doing this route for so long and never encountered  _ anyone _ \- though, I suppose, in a city of millions of people, the odds were stacked that at some point someone would be crazy enough to do the same late-night runs that I did. 

Fair enough, I guess.

Either way, it was time to go. Replacing my headphones and hitting “play” once more, I was off into the night at a faster pace than usual - perhaps refreshed by new conversation, or the fact I knew that I still needed to be up for work in the morning, getting home before anything else out of the ordinary sidetracked me was probably for the best.


End file.
